


The Whiskey Don't Work

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Black Panther (2018), NCIS
Genre: Challenge Response, Crossover, Gen, Random Encounters, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 21:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14601648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: Written for the Into a Bar 2018 challenge, prompt: Nakia goes into a bar and meets Abby Sciuto.





	The Whiskey Don't Work

_February 2015_

Glancing at her phone for the seventh time in half an hour, Abby Sciuto heaved a sigh as she realized she had been stood up. So much for dating someone who was a friend of a friend, she thought. She was not looking forward to telling McGee that his pal Scotty was a flake. Still, the pub she was sitting in was not as bad as it could have been – the bartender had not looked at her like she had wandered into the wrong bar. She had traded her usual spike collar for a more subdued diamond-patterned one, but that had been her only concession to going to somewhere ‘normal.’ Abby wore a white button-down shirt under a black vest. She had paired it with a green, black, and white tartan skirt over black wool tights, in deference to the weather, and her usual black platform boots. Her coat lay over the stool next to her.

The pub itself was nothing special – just an average, could-have-been-anywhere pub in an up-and-coming neighborhood. It had the misfortune of being across the street from a trendier hot spot that had gotten all the press. Abby liked that pub better, but Scotty had insisted they could talk more in this place. She suspected he had chosen it deliberately so he could cruise by and then hop over to that other pub when he passed on meeting her in person. This pub was a third empty; it was still early enough in the evening that the Saturday night crowd – no doubt overflow from the pub across the street – had yet to show up.

Shrugging, Abby took another sip of her now-watered-down drink as the pub’s door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Curiosity made her look to see who entered. A petite black woman entered, wearing a dark green leather jacket, jeans, and knee-length brown boots. She stood in the doorway a moment to push back the gray hood of her jacket, revealing she had worn a green patterned scarf underneath, before moving forward to take the seat to Abby’s left. Abby had watched enough people in her life move like they had martial arts training, and she suspected the stranger was one. That alone intrigued her, though she knew given the fact she was in D.C., a military town if she had ever seen one, the chances of running into someone with such training was much higher than if she had been in a stereotypical small town.

“Want another one?” the bartender interrupted Abby’s analysis.

“Sure,” Abby agreed. Not wanting to be drunk when her date arrived, she had ordered a ginger lime fizz.

“What is that?” the woman to Abby’s left asked as she unwrapped her scarf from her head and folded it in deft motions. Her accent was nothing Abby recognized. At the least, it was not Ducky’s British one.

“Ginger beer, lime juice, and sparking water,” Abby told her.

“Whiskey not working?”

Abby laughed. “Maybe if I was with a friend who was my designated driver.”

The woman studied Abby’s drink, looked at the bottles lining the back of the bar, then signaled the bartender. “Shot of whiskey, Maker’s Mark,” she said, naming off one of the more expensive whiskey brands. To Abby, she said, “I’m toasting to new dreams. Want to join me?”

Abby smiled. “Sure. What kind of dreams?”

“The one where I don’t become a princess or a queen,” she said with a secret, amused smile as the bartender delivered her glass. She paid her tab, tipping well enough not to be memorable.

Abby frowned. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean by that.”

Nakia chuckled. “My ex is the prince and next-in-line to be king of a small country in Africa. I decided I wanted a career instead of becoming his queen.”

“Did he take it well?”

Nakia shrugged. “T'Challa respects me. He doesn’t like what I’ve chosen to do in part because he was raised to be the protector of his people. It bothers him I’ve chosen this career, which means I will be far away from him. He cannot interfere without repercussions.”

“What is that you’re doing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Helping other people,” Nakia said.

“I’m all for that,” Abby said, and raised her glass to clink it against the other woman’s. She suspected Nakia’s story was more complex than that but was willing to overlook the details for now. “I’m Abby. You are?”

“Nakia.” She downed the shot in a single swallow, making a face as it burned its way down her throat. “And now that’s done: where’s a good place to go eat?”

Abby chuckled. “What are you in the mood for and how much are you willing to spend?”

Nakia raised an eyebrow. “Clearly, I’m a poor immigrant from a third-world country,” she said dryly, “who can’t afford a proper whiskey.”

“Well, I’m an underpaid government employee,” Abby replied, “so let’s compromise. There’s a great Korean place about a block away.”

“Lead on,” Nakia said.

Abby settled her tab and led the other woman to the small Korean restaurant. Before they could order, however, Nakia’s phone rang. She answered it, speaking in a language Abby did not recognize, then disconnected the call. “Sorry,” she said apologetically. “A friend needs me.” She hesitated a moment before asking, “Is there some way I can reach you so we can try this again, some other time?”

Abby pulled out a business card from her purse and handed it to her. “I’m at work a lot,” she told Nakia, “so it’s easier to reach me there. How can I reach you?” Abby pulled out her cell phone.

The other woman rattled off a number and spelled her name. “No last name,” she said. “I’m Wakandan.”

Abby’s eyes widened in surprise. “I thought Wakanda was a third-world country.”

Nakia’s lips curved in a secret smile. “We are,” she said, and exited the restaurant.

Abby watched her go before shaking herself and deciding to make an order to go. Work would call her soon enough; best to make the most of her free evening.

Two days later, Abby received a text from Nakia, which surprised her. _I’m free for dinner tonight – want to join me at the restaurant?_

Abby made a mental list of her to-dos and realized she had to pass. Reluctantly, she texted her regrets.

Nakia did not contact her again. Abby chalked up the experience to random strangers passing in the night and forgot about it.

* * *

Years later, Abby was scanning the news when a headline caught her eye. _King T’Challa of Wakanda announces his engagement to childhood sweetheart, Nakia, who leads the country’s foreign intelligence division._ The accompanying video made Abby’s memory stutter as she looked at the woman she had shared a drink with one night.

“Guess you got the prince and the career,” Abby murmured as she watched Nakia talk about how she would not be resigning her position and how T’Challa did not expect such a move from her. “Good for you.” Abby toasted Nakia with her Caf-Pow and smiled.


End file.
